Chapter 504

Lil’ Nathan’s stubborn expression mirrored his mother's. Elvis carried Nathan from The Red Villa into a luxury Rolls Royce Phantom. In a deep voice, Elvis asked, “Why would I consult you about my marriage?” Nathan bowed his head and wrote on a piece of paper, “I also want to find a wife, and we won’t interfere with each other.” Peterson, the driver, was accustomed to their method of communication. This was their usual father-son exchange. Elvis raised a skeptical eyebrow, questioning with a look: “Now you can do that?” Nathan quickly wrote, “I’m getting a wife; I don’t need you to buy me a house or a car. In short, I will bring you a daughter-in-law, and we will live our own lives.” Elvis found Nathan’s response amusing. The women surrounding him disliked Nathan; he disdained them, unwilling to consider them as potential mothers. Though immature for his age, he was still a child, sensitive and wary of Elvis suddenly introducing a woman and forcing him to call her “mother.” This solution—each marrying their own wife and living separately—was the best Lil’ Nathan could devise.

Elvis’s thin lips curved upwards slightly as he touched Nathan’s head, assuring him, “Don’t worry, Dad has no plans to marry for the time being.” Father and son returned to Serenity Villa, a love nest Elvis had prepared while Olive was still alive. It included a children’s room and playground, every detail reflecting his meticulous care and dream of a happy family. After Elvis survived a knife attack three years prior, he returned to Serenity Villa; Nathan grew up there, living in the children’s room. “Young master, little master, welcome home. Dinner is ready,” Aunt Layla announced, presenting a delicious meal. Nathan sat beside Elvis, taking a bite of the small cake Betty had bought him. Dessert cake was Nathan’s favorite. Elvis frowned, his dark eyes fixed on Nathan. Not only did Nathan possess his mother’s eyes, but he also shared her love for sweets.

For the past three years, no one dared mention her in his presence, except his grandmother, who now spoke of her less and less, fearing his anger. Elvis tapped the table twice, saying, “Nathan, it’s dinner time; eat less sweets.” Knowing his father disliked the cake, Nathan offered a spoonful to Elvis. Elvis refused, “I don’t like sweets.” Nathan wrote, “Have you ever eaten cake?” The question triggered a memory in Elvis—every time she ate cake, he kissed her; her mouth was filled with sweetness, the very taste he now associated with the cake. His constant thoughts of her were troubling. His eyes, dark as ink, held a gloomy unhappiness. He shook his head and lied, “No.” Nathan wrote, “Why won’t Dad let me eat it? Is it because of my mom?” Elvis remained silent. Nathan continued, “Why are you so angry with Grandma today? I hear you smashing things again; is it because of Mom?” Elvis’s unhappiness deepened. She wasn’t this child’s mother; she hadn’t even wanted children with him.

Elvis threw the cake in the trash, his thin lips pursed. He said expressionlessly, “Don’t eat that anymore. Eat later.” Nathan, desperate for the cake, rushed to the trash can. Before he could retrieve it, Elvis’s hand grabbed his shirt collar, lifting him easily. “Nathan, don’t eat cake anymore, do you understand?” Nathan, pulled back, looked from the discarded cake to Elvis with a stubborn expression. He wanted the cake! Elvis’s anger flared. He spanked Nathan. “Nathan, you’re disobeying me, aren’t you?” Aunt Layla, rushing from the kitchen, pulled Nathan away. “Young master, what are you doing? You can talk; why are you hitting the child? The little master is a good boy. He just likes cake; it cheers him up. Don’t be harsh. He’s had no mother, and no playmates. He’s lonely. Boss, please show him more tolerance, patience, and fatherly love.”

Elvis looked at Nathan, who met his gaze unflinchingly, his eyes red-rimmed, brimming with unshed tears. His stubbornness, the unshed tears—it all reminded Elvis of her. His temper escalated, threatening to overwhelm him. The door to Serenity Villa opened, and a man entered, saying, “President.” Elvis glared at him, “I have no time!” The man, Aiden, Alpha’s butler, hesitated before smiling, “Sorry, young master, I’m requesting the little master’s instructions, not yours.” Aiden’s “President” was the three-year-old Nathan, a coding genius who, six months prior, had created a wildly popular mobile game and app. His grandfather, Alpha, overjoyed, had given him Aiden as his personal butler. They had already established a company and planned an IPO the following year. Nathan’s seriousness about wanting a wife in the car was no surprise given his family's genes. Alpha was a business emperor, Elvis a teenage tycoon. Nathan, even more impressive, was a three-year-old CEO. Elvis was speechless. Nathan, wiping his nose, went upstairs, followed by Aiden, into the study. Elvis was speechless once more. When Aiden emerged, finding Elvis drinking water, he said, “Young master, do you ever think the little master’s non-verbal communication and possible autism might be connected to you?”